Why You Should Always Use Protection
by Wepdiggy
Summary: Sarah is not the world's best mother, and Chuck really shouldn't leave her unattended with the kids.


_A/N: So I was watching a Louis C.K. performance, and all of a sudden, this story just kind of popped into my head, and begged me to write it. So, yeah, I took twenty minutes out of my otherwise very uninteresting day, and wrote it. Not beta'ed or anything, and no one else has even seen it before publishing, but still, I must credit __**MXPW**__, because the kids' names are kind of a joint creation between he and I. They may pop up in other stories at some point, who knows? Anyway, yeah, hope you enjoy it, and please review._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck, or anything like that, and I'd probably default on the bill, even if I did, you know, because I'm kind of poor and stuff.

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**Why You Should Always Use Protection**

-or-

**Roe and Walker V Wade**

"I'm sorry I'm not there to help," Chuck said for the umpteenth time. At this point, the phrase was beginning to lose all meaning.

"And then we went shopping, because I had to get something for Ellie's birthday, which, you're so much better at buying gifts, by the way. That's totally something you should've handled."

"Sorry about that, too," Chuck said.

"Anyway, so Miri is walking next to me, talking about God knows what. I mean, honestly, the girl doesn't shut up. I think she gets that from you," Sarah complained.

"Sorry," Chuck said again. "At least you're not calling her the 'little asshole' this week, though."

"And I'm carrying Carina – which, she's two fucking years old, Chuck. The kid can walk – I've seen it – but she doesn't. She's a bullshitter, that one."

"You were on a crowded city street. It's probably best you didn't make her walk," Chuck said in defense of his youngest daughter.

"But she's so fucking heavy. I mean, I know I'm not in the shape I once was -- which is your fault, by the way – but I'm not some useless soccer mom, either. What the hell do you feed her when I'm not around?"

"She's a growing girl, Sarah," Chuck said.

"Whatever," Sarah said annoyed. "So like I was saying, I'm carrying Carina Jr., and every three goddamn seconds, Miri is pulling on my sleeve, trying to tell me something that I don't care about."

"She's our daughter, Sarah. We should always take an interest in what she has to say."

"Why?" Sarah asked, disgusted. "And why the fuck does she think everything's a secret? I mean, honestly, Chuck. You and I know about secrets. We keep them for a living. Or at least, you still keep them for a living, and I _did_, before I started spitting out your spawn."

"She's just at that age –"

"No! There is _no_ age at which it's appropriate to whisper that 'that ladies shirt is yellow'. I can see the shirt, Chuck. I don't need some kid telling me how to observe my surroundings," Sarah said.

"She just wants you to take an interest in her, Sarah, it's not a critique of your eroding spy skills."

"My spy skills are _not_ eroding, Chuck!" Sarah nearly shouted.

"I didn't say they were, it's just –"

"Put me in the field. Put me out there right now, and I'd be as good as I ever was. And honestly Chuck, I'd be much better at that than I am as a mom. Ask me to take a kill shot on a Taliban leader from two hundred yards? Done. Ask me to seduce and bang the secrets out of some foreign intelligence officer? I'm Golden. Hell, you know that. You remember how little Carina Jr. came into being."

"We do like the role playing," Chuck said wistfully.

"But I can't take this alone much longer, Chuck. So you need to finish up whatever shitty mission you're on and come home. Oh, did I tell you the dinner story?" Sarah asked.

"Noooo," Chuck groaned.

"Well, I'm cooking dinner for these ungrateful little turds, and Miri comes up behind me and tugs on my shirt. And of course, I'm trying to be a good, supportive mom, so I put on a fake smile, and I'm like, 'What can I do for you, honey?' And do you know what she tells me?"

"I suppose I'm going to find out," Chuck said.

Sarah continued unfazed. "She says to me: 'I don't like broccoli.' She says this after I'd been slaving over that goddamn stove for at least twenty minutes. I mean, didn't she like broccoli last week?"

"I honestly don't remember," Chuck said.

"Doesn't matter. Fact still stands, she's an ungrateful little shit."

"Sarah, um, honey, I really have to go. You know, important spy stuff, and all. Tell the girls I love them, and I'll be home soon."

Dial tone.

"What? No, don't you hang up on me, you bastard! You're the reason I'm in this mess!" Sarah shouted into the phone pointlessly. "Chuck Bartowski!"

……

Sarah awoke with a start. She quickly took in her surroundings. She was in a hotel room. Chuck was next to her. Glancing over at the window, she could see through the early light of dawn that she was in Paris. She felt her stomach, and it was still as tones and flat as it ever was.

Thank God.

It was all a dream. A very vivid, and horrible dream, but a dream still the same. She'd only been with Chuck once, and he'd worn a condom. She was still young, still a spy, still childless, and if that dream was indication, she kind of hoped she'd stay that way for a very long time. Like, forever.

"Wha – Sarah?" Chuck asked sleepily, as her frantic movements had apparently woke him up.

She kissed his cheek gently. After all, he was still _her_ Chuck, and not the horrible Chuck that wanted to plant his seed in her from her dream. "Shh, it's alright," she whispered.

"Did you have a bad dream or something?" Chuck asked, propping himself up on a elbow and looking over at her.

"The worst," Sarah said simply.

Chuck threw and arm around her waist and pulled her tightly against him. "Don't worry," yawn, "I'll protect you."

Sarah sighed contentedly. "Chuck?" she asked.

"Mm-hmmm?"

"How do you feel about a vasectomy?"

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_A/N: So was that funny at all? I look forward to your feedback. You guys are awesome. Peace. _


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